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PAST

3.28.13 It seems so easy.

3.27.13 No. 369:

It's a rough week for breakables, more carnage:

But the painting was able to be fixed and after cleaning is great.

3.26.13

3.25.13 How a disaster changes things. Boo managed to knock a huge, important (to me anyway) painting off the mantle piece, down went four bowls with it, smashing an antique ironstone compote that's been serving salads here for decades and a massive mixing bowl also old and family stuff. The painting was scratched, dinked, nippled and made saggy but not punctured. Fixing it now. The bowls landed on Annmarie's good sunglasses (of course).

How a daffodil changes things!

3.24.13 A small change.Hope the family members at the wedding yesterday had a great stime- will be checking Facebook for pics. Ever since I turned into a Table people spill drinks, and spaghetti sauce on me at these kinds of functions so they must be assiduously avoided.

3.23.13 B-day message for Alyss on her wedding day:

 

3.22.13 Strange email attack over here. Think it's my Facebook account. Ignore any email from me on 3.22, I didn't send it. What jerks It's Tabletime:

3.17.13 Sore:

360 on St. Patties day.

3.16.13 Late now. A two table day:

I thought that was the end of the snow for this year. No:

358:

3.15.13 Not many people have seen their rotting grandma thrown down in front of them, her left eye popping out and running down her face. So many terrible memories pile up and sneak out during long nights of endless insomnia. Finally got some sleep last night, all nightmares but any dream is welcome, any port in a storm.

Heard the 'peepers' (little tree frogs in the swamp) the other evening which has been a personal symbol of survival for many years. Another winter that didn't kill me. It's a very welcome sound. Soon their will be daffodils.

3.13.13 22637 days old. 357 Tables. h. 5.

3.8.13 Clean slate.

Last snow.

3.6.13 "The winter wind is loud and wild, Come close to me, my darling child; Forsake thy books, and mateless play; And, while the night is gathering grey, We'll talk its pensive hours away." -Emily Bronte

Endless wind for the past month or so is driving us crazy and today it's reaching it's zenith- the last kicks this winter had to get in.

"Driven to sin by the loneliness and wind." -?

3.5.13 Unflushable (if that's a word) toilets and a know-storm, with a nasty nor'easter tomorrow to uglify (I know that's not a word) the work on cesspools and filled toilets.

So what, big deal, shut the f up,

Three voices in your head are the right number: 'The Observer', quiet, aloof, and the wisest of the group. 'The Speaker', who is the principal chattering, rambling voice that you identify in your mind as 'you'. As you read this the voice you hear in your head is 'The Speaker'. The third is 'The Challenger' who always questions the first rash mumblings of 'The Speaker', still your voice, but with a theatrical, superior affectation, and the weakest of the group I think. This isn't ego, id, superego. My id would involve a whole different group of primal impulses. Tne ego and superego do correspond to Speaker and Challenger but Freud had no Observer. It is quiet but listen and you'll hear the occasional verbal (in a caricature of your voice) contribution but mostly it is felt as the 'glue' holding the whole mess together. It lends gravitas to the silly parade.

338:
.

3.4.13 Every day I hear another horror story about local people and friends. You have to be tough to live in Whiting (but no one is tough enough). I'm reduced to Tables, Table 3.4.13:

3.1.13 Cleaning the garden. Croci begging for sun. It's all about the middle things (I think).

It's all about the small things (and the big things too). 352

 

 

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